The Angel of Music
by NLJones22
Summary: Set in 2005 can the Phantom find love with a girl who knows the hardships of life?


**Angel of Music.**

**Prologue**

Deep inside the catacombs of the Opera Populaire dwells an Angel…one who can be caring, tender and gentle….one who can be cruel, hating all willing to KILL. Yet this Angel has two names. The Angel of Hell, which is what he calls himself. Then there is the Angel of Music. Often those who have heard him call him that….he becomes their angel…but who is this mysterious angel. Could it be the same known as the Phantom? The LEGENDARY Phantom of the Opera died, at the very same Opera House…if a Ghost can be killed…yet who is to say he was a Phantom, a ghost? Rumour has it that he was a living breathing human…all that is known is that the Opera Populaire was rebuilt after it was found there was no trace of him after it had been burnt down, yet again. Prior to it been burnt down there had been a series of strange notes…all signed the same… O.G. Naturally the mangers suspected it all to be some childish prank. This time the fire was not caused by a falling Chandelier. Instead it is rumoured that a candle stick was knocked over in the Prima Donna Dressing Room. Swiftly the flames took hold of the building… yet the catacombs remained untouched…safe, as did many of the back passageways. Now it is the year 2005. The Opera Populaire has been rebuilt, and this time its manager means to find the cause of these mysterious notes for good.

**Chapter 1: The notes begin.**

The manager frowned as she entered her office. She had made sure all the students had been present, yet how come there was a note delivered on her desk…the writing smooth and even, sealed with a skull. Almost carelessly she made to throw it into the fire burning in her room.

"That would not be the wisest thing you would do" A soft voice spoke, by the manager's ear as if from thin air.

"Why should I not…it is just a students prank. Really I must keep a better grip on myself, starting to hear things" The manager scolded herself angrily.

"You aren't though. I promise you… if you do not read that note then you will learn why this Opera house has burnt down" came the voice softly.

"I doubt it. But I guess there is no harm in reading it…see what has been written this time" the manager muttered absently.

Slowly she slit the envelope open using one of her sharp nails. As always the note was written on paper belonging to the Opera Populaire. Swiftly she read it before throwing it in the fire. She looked about the room again, as if reassuring herself there really was no one there. As she had thought it had been her imagination and the fact a student here had not been present. That was all. Slowly she sunk into her seat and frowned as she heard the pattering of footsteps, footsteps behind the panelling. What if the rumours were true? What if there really was an Opera Ghost.

"Stop been so stupid! Of course there's no opera ghost. You've listened to one too many of the chorus girls tales" the manager again scolded herself.

Slowly her mind drifted back to when she had first arrived here at the Opera Populaire. As most of the other notes had been from that point on, there had been a note resting on her desk. At first she had thought it came from the previous manager before she read it. Then she decided it was a childish prank. But the funny thing was that she could never get box 5 full, the persons who were meant to be sat in it always found some excuse to sit elsewhere. Curious really but if they were to be like that then it was after all their choice. She never left the full 20,000 Franc Salary that had been requested; actually she had not left the money for a while now. She had thought by ignoring it she'd succeeded in stopping whichever of the chorus girls, or the band members from sending her those stupid notes. It would appear not.

Erik smiled to himself as he returned deep into the labyrinthe of the catacombs. Down here he was safe. Personally he hoped that the manager would obey his requests this time. He did not care to have to find another accident to burn down the place that was his home again. If need be though he would. Unlike most 'normal' people Erik was definitely not normal. For starters the right side of his face was covered by a mask that hid a dreadful deformity underneath.

"Why you ask was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place? Not for any mortal sin but the wickedness of my abhorrent face" Erik softly sang, remembering the last time he had sung those exact words.

His pale blue eyes were cold, but they held a faint trace of deep sadness in them. He still remembered how he had lost Christine…the one he had given his music his love to. Slowly he sank down to the ground, resting his head against a wall.

"I gave you my music, made your song take flight and now how you repaid me, denied me and betrayed me," Erik quietly sung to himself, a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

"Bloody Hell! Erik stop been so utterly pathetic," he scolded himself angrily.

Slowly he stood up and stretched. He really needed to stop dwelling on what was in the past. It was gone now. Over. He wished he could banish the past as often as he could burn down the opera house, strangle people with his Punjab lasso. Instead each time he killed he could see Christine begging him to stop, even as he strangled her to death… every time he destroyed his own house it was as if the memories of Christine were even more deeply branded into his mind. No matter what he did he could not escape his own torment. He could still hear her voice as he wondered the catacombs. **Those who have seen your face draw back in fear; I am the mask you wear.**

"NO! GET OUT OF MY MIND!" Erik yelled his voice hoarse.

Angrily he started to pace up and down. As yet he had no desire to return to his lair. Even there, there were too many memories that again he wanted to forget. Every place in this opera house… he was constantly haunted. Trapped. Unable to escape from a past he would rather forget. He was not alone in his wonderings. O no. The ghosts of the past joined him, often keeping him company. Company he would rather not have. He sighed, alone. That was usual. He preferred total loneliness then constant haunting though. It was driving him insane, constantly being haunted, unable to find peace. He gave a cough, even singing, he was losing his voice. It wouldn't be long before lack of anyone to talk too caused him to lose his voice totally.

"Wouldn't that be good?" Erik commented, noticing how hoarse his voice was. "The 'great' Opera Ghost…loses his voice."

Erik gave a harsh laugh. O it was all right him trying to pretend everything was fine, he knew it wasn't though. Totally alone, his company not wanted. His thoughts turned again to suicide… to taking his own life.

"And how would the Opera Ghost go about killing himself…hanging perhaps, or even just using my rapier to end my life, or even drowning… all seem equally good to me," He said softly, his voice almost gone.

"Why would you want to end your life?" Came a soft female voice.

Erik frowned as he heard the voice, he had been that lost in his thoughts he hadn't heard someone approaching. How had they got that deep in the catacombs anyway? Only he knew all the passageways. He tried to speak, but his voice had given totally. He was dumb, a mute now. Tears of frustration came, frustration at his own inability to speak. From the shadows he could hear a strange sound, it was footsteps but not usual. It was more like a **step-clunk**. He hadn't heard anything like that before. The shadows parted to show a tall, thin, lithe female, leaning slightly on a stick…. no a quarterstaff he realised. Yet she was young, so young…she couldn't have been older then Christine had been. Slowly the female approached and knelt beside him. She fumbled inside the long robes she was wearing, and brought out a bottle of water and offered it to Erik.

"Its okay, it won't harm you. Its just plain water, my name's Natasha. I'm a Quarterstaff master," Natasha said softly.

Erik watched as Natasha leant her quarterstaff against the wall and sat down, nodding as she gave her name. Slowly he took a drink from the bottle. Again he regarded her, noticing her eyes were dark brown, almost black yet they were kind, and they seemed to suit her chestnut brown hair that came down to her jaw. Natasha didn't push him; she waited patiently until he'd drank his fill of the water. She had countless questions to ask, but they could wait.

"I'm called Erik, though most people know of me as the Opera Ghost," Erik said softly, his voice still slightly hoarse.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, M'sieur Erik," Natasha said softly.

"As much as it is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle," Erik responded, politely, he was trying to remember why the name Natasha, especially attached to the rank of Quarterstaff Master, seemed so familiar to him.

"You will have to forgive my curiosity, M'sieur…for in the opera house the rumours are rife. You are really the Opera Ghost, the one from 1870?" Natasha asked, unable to stop herself.

"Yes, I am the very one from 1870… your name…it seems familiar to me… yet I cannot seem to reason why," Erik commented.

"Most people have heard of me here. I used to compete a lot, before my ankle got too much, and in the main international competitions. Me and my quarterstaff master…well former master, and battle partner Elder Nicholas," Natasha responded.

"Your ankle?" Erik questioned slightly.

"My left one is weak, it always has been, despite 3 operations to try and correct that, it didn't work as they were too late…if they had have been done when I was 5 then it would have meant I'd have still been competing now," Natasha replied.

Erik nodded. He had worked out where he'd heard the name Natasha before now. The chorus girls, they'd been talking about her. Yet they had been speaking about more then just her skills with a quarterstaff…they'd been talking about something musical related.

"Yea that's right, not only does she wield a quarterstaff with great skill, she is also a good flute player, one of the best it's said," Anne commented.

"I've heard she's got a good singing voice as well," Katie responded.

"Yea I know. Just imagine having someone like her here, it would really brighten things up, make our shows a lot better…though I doubt Victoria would approve of having a better singer then her," Emma said quietly.

"What wouldn't I approve of?" Victoria asked as she walked in, her fine clothes and proud stature showing her to be someone used to getting her questions answered now.

"Nothing, Signora Gudichelli," Anne said nervously.

"It did not sound like nothing," Victoria remarked, her voice heavily accented.

Victoria looked every part like her ancestor, Carlotta Gudichelli. She had also acquired her ancestor's poor singing voice and the way she thought her voice was the greatest. All the Chorus girls were scared of crossing her, or saying one thing wrong. She had often stormed out half way through production and someone else had had to take her role, even if they didn't know the words well.

"We assure you, Signora, it was nothing. After all, why would one so great as you wish to bother your brilliant head and risk ruining your perfect voice so close to a show with inconsequential chorus girl chatter?" Kate said, acting as the diplomat.

Victoria gave a soft laugh. She walked through the midst of the group of chorus girls, who moved out of the way to get her beloved doggy, who had come in a bit back. The chorus girls loved her – she was named Roseatta – and often came in to escape her doting mistress's attention.

"Now, now, Roseatta, my princess, what are you doing with this common lot?" Victoria asked as she picked Roseatta up, holding her close as she walked out of the room again.

Anne, short for Annemarie de Chagny shook her head rolling her eyes slightly. Kate and Emma, both Giry's and twins laughed. You could only tell the two of them apart by their different preferences. Whereas Emma preferred to be a ballerina and in the background of the chorus, Kate much more preferred to be in the front of the chorus, she had the voice for it as well. Anne laughed with Kate and Emma, she wondered if she'd ever meet the mysterious angel her mother had loved…and left.

Erik looked at Natasha as he remembered the talk. He wondered, could it be the same one. It had to be, surely. Well there was only one way to find out.

"Mademoiselle, you will have to forgive me, for it is something I heard listening to the chorus girls chatter – they've mentioned you quite a few times – but in oneconversation about you before mademoiselle Victoria Gudichelli came in they said you were a good singer and flautist. Is that true?" Erik asked.

"Victoria Gudichelli being the rubbish Prima Donna here, who has that habit of storming out on the opera company mid production? I myself would say I am average in both fields. Singing though is slightly better then my talent as a flautist. Due to something that happened, that couldn't be reversed… I stopped playing my flute. I still have it though," Natasha replied quietly.

Erik nodded unable to stop himself from smiling at Natasha's very accurate description of Victoria. He himself was NOT impressed with her abilities as a singer. No…she had her ancestor's poor voice and her temperament too it would seem. He wondered how Natasha had managed to gain such an accurate analysis.

"Listening to chorus girl chatter," Natasha said quietly, almost as if she'd read Erik's thoughts. "Sorry, because of some of what I've been through I've become slightly empathic, I could feel your confusion, just as I can feel your pain and loneliness and sadness. Its how I found you."

Erik nodded again, that explained it, and how she had found him. And it would seem that he wasn't the only one who listened to chorus girl chatter. He wondered how good a singer she was, and how he could find out. Could he risk taking her down to his lair? Eventually she'd find her way down there anyway. Was there any point in trying to keep it hidden from her? Slowly Erik stood up his decision made

"Follow me, Mademoiselle. You will have to forgive my curiosity but I can't help but be curious how good your voice is. Most people bring themselves down slightly when talking about themselves," Erik said, surprised at the need to explain his reasoning to Natasha, yet there was something about her that compelled him to.

"I will follow as fast as I may," Natasha quietly replied standing up, careful to take more weight onto her right leg as she reached for her quarterstaff, leaning on it again, holding it in her left hand so she could weight bear fairly normally.

Erik nodded slowly walking away, walking slow enough so that Natasha would be able to keep up with him noticing again the **step clunk** yet now he knew what it was. The clunk was as her quarterstaff hit the ground, helping her to walk. He knew what it was like to be limited; he himself was limited to keeping himself as secret as possible to everyone by his face. In a way though with Natasha it was as if the memories receded, memories he'd rather forget. For the first time he felt alive.

Quietly Natasha followed feeling his confusion and happiness all at once. Yet she kept her grounding thought firmly in her mind. She couldn't allow herself to be overwhelmed by emotions now. It was bad enough in the Opera House. There emotions were at a peak, tension and nerves for the most part. That was of course understandable though, what with a show coming up. She smiled as she remembered what it was. One of her favourites by Gilbert and Sullivan. She'd arrived too late to get a part though, so she was just a plain chorus member. Swiftly she focused her mind back on the present, not the thoughts of the Opera House. She looked around in amazement as she saw Erik's home, his lair, set by a lake.

"Welcome to my home, to the seat of sweet Music's throne as I like to refer to it," Erik said softly.

"Wow...it's just…beautiful," Natasha managed to whisper, awestruck.

Erik gave a smile before he slowly walked over to his organ his fingers gently running a scale on it. Natasha slowly followed feeling Music drawing itself around Erik as he ran through the scale on his organ. Erik picked up some sheet music off the top of the organ, and a copy of it. He passed the copy to Natasha indicating if she wished she could find a seat to sit on. Natasha found a seat, moving it slightly so she could watch Erik's fingers as they moved over the organ. Erik smiled slightly as he noticed how Natasha had positioned herself. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Natasha skim read through first the music itself and then the words.

Once Natasha was ready she looked up, knowing Erik had been watching her. She gave a slight nod to show her readiness. Erik slowly played the introduction watching Natasha out of the corner of his eye all the time. As Natasha heard the cue note, even though she'd never heard the music before she could feel it, as she felt Music's slight nudge, she started to sing. Her voice blended to the music. Erik was surprised and he immersed himself in Music's flow. She'd been taught, yet she also knew how to flow with the Music, he speeded up the tempo slightly testing her now.

Natasha picked up the tempo change and immediately adjusted her voice to suit the new tempo. She was reading the notes and the music. It was coming up to the finale. Erik was listening now adapting his playing to better suit Natasha's voice.

"We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea but if can still remember stop and think…" Natasha sang her voice strong but there was also the emotion.

Erik allowed the music from the organ to die away as it came to the solo, the Cadenza. Natasha moved smoothly through it, her voice seeming like liquid. To Erik who had been forced to cope with Victoria's singing Natasha's voice was like sweets to a child. As Natasha came to the end of the cadenza Erik came back in for the finale. He was surprised with the way in which Natasha faded the 'me' out in perfect unison with the organ, and exactly how it had been specified in the music.

"Brava, Mademoiselle," Erik said softly.

Natasha lowered her head modestly. She knew that her music teacher had never heard her sing like that. With him she'd had to hold her voice back, or risk a beating. No, it had only been when Erik had led her to sweet Music's throne as he called it she had been able to let her voice truly flow and to listen to Music's prompting.

"Tell me, what role if any do you have in the up and coming production of Gilbert and Sullivan's HMS Pinafore?" Erik asked curious.

"I'm afraid none, M'sieur, I missed the auditions," Natasha replied softly. "I'm just a member of the chorus,"

"How well do you know the lead part?" Erik asked curious, if he could find some way to get rid of Victoria he might turn up to the show.

"Fairly well M'sieur. But even if I had got that part my ankle might have held me back," Natasha replied, lowering her head slightly.

Erik got to his feet and approached Natasha. He knew how limited she must feel. He could tell she wanted to have a lead part, yet she was only being realistic. There was very little chance in her eyes that she'd be able to stand all the time for some of the songs, yet Erik knew she had definite talent. Gently he raised her head up by placing his hand on her chin so he could look her in the eye. Natasha returned his calm look.

"Would you sing if you had no choice, or if the show would otherwise not go on?" Erik asked quietly.

"Yes, M'sieur," Natasha replied quietly.

"As you have already commented upon, Mademoiselle Victoria Gudichelli has a habit of storming out on the Opera company mid-production. From what I've heard your voice is strong enough to perhaps rival that of Christine Daaé," Erik tailed off slightly.

Natasha gently laid a hand on his shoulder feeling the sadness. She couldn't help but feel compassion and pity…and something else deep down a slight stirring… for Erik. He'd been alone so long. Erik slowly raised his own hand gently placing it on top of Natasha's checking this wasn't a cruel dream. No one had touched him so gently for years. Not since Christine. He gave a slight smile, knowing he would never be able to hide anything from Natasha. In a way though he didn't want to hide anything from her.

"Someone in your past hurt you didn't they? Not necessarily physically but emotionally," Natasha asked quietly

Erik nodded, surprised at how quick she'd picked that up. He again though accounted it to her empathic powers. His emotions must be rolling over her in waves. He wondered how she coped, but thought it would be rude to ask. Natasha sighed, it was always the same. Someone always had to hurt others. She felt his confusion and read the question from his eyes and nodded, it was due to her empathic abilities.

"It was Mademoiselle Daaé who hurt me. I trained her to sing, many years ago… and in 1871 she betrayed me, preferring the patron – the Vicompte de Chagny – to me, the one who lurks in the shadows, forced to by public opinion," Erik said sadly.

"I'm sorry, yet you say forced to by public opinion? Why may I ask? If you don't want you to say you don't have to," Natasha added on as an afterthought.

"It is impossible to hide anything from you is it not?" Erik asked with an amused smile on his face.

"Most the time, yes," Natasha replied, smiling slightly.

"I am sure you have no doubt noticed the mask I wear, it is what it hides that is why I am forced by public opinion to lurk down here in the shadows," Erik replied softly.

"Why you ask was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place? Not for any mortal sake but the wickedness of my abhorrent face," Natasha muttered to herself as she remembered the words she'd heard.

Erik nodded; he hadn't known she'd heard him sing those words. He wondered about her reaction if she saw the disfigurement that was under his mask. The disfigurement that had earnt him the fear and loathing of his mother, and the eventual abandonment of his father. The disfigurement that had meant his mother sold him to the gypsies to be a new display for them. The disfigurement that had so often made his life hell.

"Please, M'sieur, may I see?" Natasha asked quietly, she would accept his refusal if he did not wish to show her though.

Erik looked at Natasha his eyes asking the question "are you sure?" As Natasha nodded in answer he slowly reached up and removed the mask, without unsettling the wig he also wore to mask the full extent of the disfigurement. Natasha reached up and gently touched the side of his face normally covered by the mask. It didn't scare her; she had a whole forearm covered in scars thanks to a bully in England.

"I know what it feels like to have to hide something, it's the reason why I always wear either my quarterstaff master robes or long sleeved top and trousers," Natasha said quietly.

"May I see?" Erik asked gently.

Natasha nodded, rolling up the left sleeve of her quarterstaff master robes. Then she removed the leather bracer she wore so that if she suddenly got caught up in a battle she'd have some protection. Erik gently took her hand, his eyes glancing up to check that she didn't mind before he looked back down. Surprised and angered with what he saw. Surprised as she'd managed to get to grade 5, when the scars would limit her ability on the scales. Angered as someone had obviously done this, and he knew it wouldn't have been Natasha- he'd read some of the quarterstaff guidelines, and it was against honour to injure yourself on purpose. In fact, of the whole collection, only one scar looked accidental, and that rested on the back of her hand where it wouldn't interfere with her flute playing. Gently he ran his fingers over the scars, some were deeper then the others.

"What happened?" Erik asked softly.

"The scar on the back of my hand was from a championship battle where I took a heavy blow on my left hand, splitting the skin. I couldn't release the tension fast enough so it ripped open to the bone. The rest of the scars come from a bully cornering me twice, first time he just threw a bottle at me. I wasn't sure enough of my skills as a quarterstaff wielder so I raised my arm to shield my face. The second time he cornered me he held my wrist so I wouldn't be able to move my arm away no matter how much I tried. Then he smashed a bottle against it and dragged one of the broken ends straight down," Natasha replied quietly.

"Yet you still managed to pass grade 5, despite the scars?" Erik asked.

"Yes, M'sieur. My flute teacher had taught me how to substitute for my lack of stretch when it came to G sharp which is the only note I struggle on. It was either explain to the examiner that I did have scars on my left forearm that meant I would substitute any G sharp for the note below it in a chord or I'd require more time to make the shift to G sharp," Natasha replied.

"Yet you stopped, after Grade 5 correct?" Erik asked.

"Yes, M'sieur. You are correct. Shortly after I'd got my Grade 5 examination results, I took my trial to become a Quarterstaff Master. The youngest one ever to sit that trial – well sit…I say sit, take the trial perhaps would be better. Shortly after I'd become a master I was running later to get to my lesson. Susan, that was her name, had come out to wait for me. A gang war started nearby. I'd signalled to her to get inside, I could fend for myself. I couldn't move quickly enough to get my Quarterstaff out and block a bullet that had ricocheted off a building. The bullet killed her due to my slow response time," Natasha replied.

"Do not blame yourself. You could not have done anything to stop it hitting. By blaming yourself you'll eventually become a wraith, unable to want to live anymore or do anything," Erik said quietly.

"The only thing that keeps me living is the need to defend my honour, and Music. If it wasn't for them I would have killed myself long ago. I can't help but blame myself, I'd been blamed by her family," Natasha whispered.

Erik gently hugged her. He'd never known anyone who was like this, apart from perhaps him. She seemed so controlled yet he could feel a slight tenseness as he hugged her. One that came from unshed tears.

"It's all right to cry, god knows I've cried often enough," Erik said softly, he knew tears could heal more hurt then anything else.

"A Quarterstaff Master should keep control of their emotions at all times," Natasha said softly.

"A Quarterstaff Master is not you, and most Quarterstaff Masters won't have gone through a half of what you've been through. Most Quarterstaff Masters would be older and more matured and more emotionally able to cope with self blame, sorrow and the blame of others, not that I don't think you are mature," Erik countered smoothly.

"The same rules always apply, no matter the age," Natasha said softly, yet it was clear from her voice she'd probably end up crying anyway.

"No one needs to know but you and me. It does no one good to keep tears back, and down here only I will see and hear. Eventually guilt, blame and unspent tears will make you ill," Erik countered again.

"Perhaps it will only twist my mind more, as…" Natasha tailed off.

"As?" Erik asked, thoroughly intrigued now.

"As the bully said my mind was already twisted," Natasha said, even now she daren't say his name.

"Natasha, your mind is not twisted, I can swear to you its not. The bully is getting to you by his words, even now when he's not here. I promise you nothing you have said to me will ever leave beneath the Opera House, nor will anything tears you may shed become common knowledge," Erik said softly.

Finally Natasha cried, allowing her tears to fall onto Erik's shoulder. It wasn't only tears of pain and sadness but happiness. She'd never known anyone to be a friend to her. She'd never had anyone who would not betray her to the bully who had plagued her since 6. With the tears of pain and sadness were tears of happiness that she'd finally have a friend whom she could speak with. Who she could really speak with and not fear of betrayal.

Erik let Natasha cry. He could tell she needed it; she could rival him for holding back tears at times. As well as disguising her emotions. He gently wiped the tears away with one hand, just keeping her close letting her cry herself out. Natasha looked at Erik, tears still gleaming in her eyes.

"Thank you," Natasha whispered softly.

"For what?" Erik was thrown off slightly; no one had ever thanked him for anything.

"For everything. I've never had anyone I could count as a friend. The bully always ensured that. I was always the girl trying to keep out of everyone's way, lurking in the corners hoping to go unnoticed," Natasha said softly.

"Everyone deserves a friend. Everyone deserves someone they can talk to, someone they don't feel the need to hide anything from," Erik replied.

Deep down Erik was fuming. He couldn't believe that people hadn't changed from when he'd grown up. There was always someone who had to be the outcast, who wasn't given chance to fit in. It had been the same with him. He sighed 'no' that was one memory he couldn't face. As he looked at Natasha he saw something, she was still in some ways a child. She just seemed mature because of how she controlled herself, that quiet self control that made it easy for her to bar people out. How long had she had to spend keeping herself closed in, yet why hadn't her mother picked up on that…if she had a mother?

"You never talked to your mother?" Erik asked softly.

"Never wanted to. She was a whore, a prostitute. When she was in she was with another man, or going out. She treated me like a servant," Natasha replied quietly.

"I'm sorry," Erik said softly, worried he'd perhaps hurt her.

"It's all right. You were bound to ask. It was all a matter of time," Natasha replied softly.

"I wasn't sure if your mother was even dead. I know mine is, and I know also that she didn't treat me very well. In fact, I only have one present from her worth remembering, though it was never plain unconditional love," Erik said softly.

"Would you show me that present? It's bound to be better then anything I got off my mother, she wanted me to become like her. Despite the fact that I had already decided to become a Quarterstaff Wielder so it would be dishonourable for me to do that," Natasha asked softly.

Erik nodded. He found the chain of the necklace his mother had given him and slowly drew it out. On the end was a silver crucifix. Natasha looked at Erik asking his permission to touch it. At his nod she gently held it in her hands. She ran her fingers over the crucifix feeling the intricate details.

"Sorry, it comes of checking my quarterstaff for any markings I don't want in the wood," Natasha said softly.

"Its all right, I've never shown anyone else, not even Christine," Erik admitted softly.

Natasha smiled. Again she raised her hand up, gently running her fingers over the scars, noting some of the sore spots. Erik couldn't help but smile. He'd never had anyone touch the disfigurement that gently, well apart from himself when he was washing his face. He noticed how gentle her fingers were, as if she could tell what spots were sore and what weren't. She frowned as she felt the edge of a wig.

"You wear a wig?" Natasha asked questioningly.

"The disfigurement reaches back into my hair, I hardly have any hair on the left side," Erik admitted softly.

Natasha nodded. She pitied Erik, even though she knew that Erik didn't want pity. How could she say she loved him? Not after what Christine had done. She didn't want to scare him away, or make him think it was false. Gently she laid her head on Erik's chest, finding comfort there in hearing the steady beat of his heart.

"I take it I'm still alive then," Erik said semi sarcastic.

"O yes, M'sieur. Very much alive and well," Natasha replied smiling.

Erik laughed. He'd never known anyone able to cope with his sarcasm by direct answer. Most people contented themselves with a glare. To him, although he didn't know how to put it, Natasha was perfect. Both a singer, and an instrumentalist and limited in both fields. He didn't want to admit that though as he was worried of scaring her. That was something he didn't want to do.

"We should be getting back to the Opera House, before people come searching for you," Erik said softly.

"Have I done anything wrong?" Natasha asked slowly sitting up.

"No, I just do not wish for my lair to be rediscovered by those I'd rather not find it," Erik replied softly. "I've already had to destroy it once."

Natasha nodded, slowly standing up. She nodded her thanks as Erik passed her Quarterstaff to her. He looked at the gondola moored where it was normally and gave a slight frown of thought, wondering.

"Mademoiselle, would you like to go back by Gondola, it would mean a faster, more enchanting journey, you seeing more of my domain and slightly quicker and easier for you?" Erik asked.

"If it is fine by you, M'sieur," Natasha replied quietly.

"That is perfectly fine," Erik replied.

He helped Natasha get in, keeping the gondola steady, and giving her a hand to lean on with her weak ankle. Then he picked up the pole he used to guide it through the catacombs and stepped in before pushing away. He was careful to catch the slight noose of the rope underwater with his pole on his second push to activate the mechanism that caused the Portcullis to raise, the curtains to open and the wooden doors to open. Natasha gave a gasp of surprise as she watched it happen, seemingly by magic. Erik gave a slight smile.

Erik was careful not to go too fast, just so that Natasha could enjoy the sights. Occasionally he even detoured to show her other places that he loved to visit down here. Various caverns that were accessible by water only. Some of which had signs of habitation in them. Erik enjoyed Natasha's company and he honestly didn't want her to leave. It was one of the few times that he'd ever felt so relaxed, with someone whom he had in effect only just met. Natasha was quiet, looking all around her in awe, trying to take in everything at once. She'd never imagined there'd be a vast labyrinth of flooded passageways to match the vast labyrinth of the dry passageways.

To her it was both bewildering and awesome. It also reminded her that Erik must have had some time alone to find all this. She was sad as the gondola bumped against the side of the steps and Erik moored it before stepping out and leaning his pole against the wall before again offering his hand as Natasha stepped out. He knew that until she was on firm dry land her Quarterstaff would be of no use.

"Thank you, M'sieur," Natasha said with a smile inclining her head slightly.

"Sarcastic," Erik replied with a soft laugh.

"Naturally M'sieur," Natasha simply replied, laughing.

Erik led the way back up through the back passageways to the basement. Just below the trapdoor he paused. He'd just had an idea on how to test her prowess as an instrumentalist. Natasha looked at him, wondering what new idea he'd just had.

"You know where the band room is?" Erik asked.

"Yes, M'sieur," Natasha replied.

"Meet me in two days with your flute in the band room, one hour after 12.00," Erik said quietly.

"As you wish, M'sieur," Natasha replied with a smile.

"And Natasha?" Erik said again.

"Yes M'sieur…" Natasha replied.

"I am sure I have said this many times before but you have great talent. If you ever need anyone to talk to, just come to the basement and either sing or play your flute, I'll come," Erik said softly with a smile.

Natasha smiled. Without warning she just hugged Erik. She couldn't believe in a way that she finally had someone who would talk to her, who understood her….who…who wouldn't betray her. Erik smiled and gently returned the hug. He would never betray Natasha, for he knew how much betrayal hurt.


End file.
